


as long as you're mine

by thealienmeme



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley really is a big dumb idiot in this one, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of WICKED, Post-Bus Ride (Good Omens), Scene: The Bus Ride (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, no brain cells
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24858985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thealienmeme/pseuds/thealienmeme
Summary: the night of the failed apocalypse, crowley and aziraphale confess their feelings to each other. so all should be well, right? wrong. the following week fills crowley with doubt, there's no way the angel could really love him, until a certain musical brings up memories of that night and a conversation has to be had.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 70
Kudos: 433





	1. Chapter 1

That had been a shitshow. 

The shittiest shitshow that ever did show. But it worked. It worked, and Earth and all of her inhabitants lived to see another day. All thanks to them. 

Literally. All thanks to the Them. 

Crowley and Aziraphale were under no impression that they had any _major_ impacts on what had happened earlier today. Sure, their little talk with Adam seemed to help him find some resolve on how to handle Satan-himself* bursting through the sun-warmed tarmac of a little airport in Tadfield. But whether or not they had actually influenced his choice was still up for debate. 

*Who Adam had only very recently discovered was his literal father 

Crowley was exhausted. He has had, frankly, a really rough day. He lost his best friend* twice, his car** had burst into flames, he had to see not only his boss, but his bosses boss, and now he had to take _public transportation_. Overall, he’s seen better. 

*the love of his life 

**the other love of his life 

_Could be worse,_ Crowley thought to himself. _Could’ve lost your best friend twice and not have gotten him back._

Crowley glanced sidelong at Aziraphale, who was taking a very long swig out of the wine bottle they had acquired at some point in-between politely declining Book Girl’s invite for a ride and sitting down at the bus stop bench. Who miracled the wine exactly, Crowley couldn’t be sure. But it was good and it was taking the edge off of what would otherwise be the beginnings of a very strong and overdue panic attack. 

Aziraphale’s lips made a ‘pop’ sound as they left the wine bottle. Crowley put his hand out expectantly and instead of feeling the cool, sleek glass neck of the wine, he felt a sudden soft pressure, filled with warmth and a tender squeeze. He quickly turned his head down to see that instead of passing Crowley the wine bottle as they had been doing for some time now, Aziraphale had given him his hand. 

Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale’s face and found he was smiling fondly down at their joined hands. 

“Angel, uh- what-” Crowley trailed off, unable to think of what to say or do next. This was weird. Odd. Very strange. They never really were the touchy type. A few brushes of hands here, some pats on the back there, but never… hand holding. 

Crowley’s question seemed to snap Aziraphale briefly out of whatever alcohol-filled haze he was in and he quickly removed his hand. 

“Ah, yes, right, you meant the wine bottle. That’s why… your hand… was out- the bottle. Of wine,” Aziraphale was chuckling nervously and looking down at his hand. 

_Does yours still tingle, too?_ Crowley thought as his own hand still buzzed in the spots that the angels fingers had just caressed. 

Aziraphale thrust the wine bottle into Crowley’s face while looking with great attention at the tree on the other side of the street. 

Well, that was a Thing. 

Crowley was mid-gulp when he realized that Aziraphale was talking about something. Not wanting to be rude and interrupt, Crowley was going to allow Aziraphale to finish whatever he was going on about. 

“-better get back to the bookshop,” Aziraphale finished with a small, sad sigh. 

Crowley’s head swam for a second. It was trying very desperately to grab onto a thought. The thought was very important if Crowley did say so himself. But what was it? It had something to do with Angel and the bookshop. Angel and the bookshop. What was it? He really should’ve been keeping better tabs on his own inebriation levels.

“The bookshop?” Crowley said out loud, hoping that forming words would help him remember. “The bookshop!” 

Aziraphale nearly jumped out of his seat, startled at Crowley’s sudden outburst. 

“Oh, Angel, I’m so sorry, it burned down,” Crowley heard his voice tremble a little bit. Sure, it wasn’t his bookshop. And Aziraphale didn’t actually sell any books so it’s not like business will be lost*, but Crowley knew that the bookshop was a safe space for Aziraphale. Somewhere he could be his own angel and be free from the constraints Heaven had spent millennia pounding into his soft, curl-ridden head. 

*Or was even required of two entities who can just miracle up as much money as necessary on any given day 

A short back and forth ensued in which Aziraphale was filled in on what exactly had happened after his inconvenient discorporation. An awkward pause and a few wayward sniffles later, an offer hung in the air. 

“You can stay at my place, if you like.” 

As the silence between the end of Crowley’s offer and Aziraphale’s answer grew longer and longer, Crowley found himself about five seconds away from taking it back when the bus appeared. 

Now, did Crowley feel bad about using his demonic powers to force a working-class bus driver to go far out of his route, which will take hours and many miles, just so him and Aziraphale could get home without having to exert any of the strength required by miracles? Of course he did, he’s not a _monster._

He was planning on adding an extra $3,000 to this kind man’s bank account the minute they were dropped off in Mayfair.

Mayfair. That reminded Crowley… 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Crowley said as Aziraphale took a seat next to him. 

“What question, dear?” Aziraphale answered, looking a little puzzled. 

“Well, I guess it wasn’t _technically_ a question, more of an offer, but regardless, you didn’t answer,” Crowley could feel himself stumbling over his words and decided it was time to sober up. “About staying at my place.” 

Crowley hated how small he sounded. How he sounded like it would devastate him if Aziraphale turned him down for the third time that day. Crowley had turned his head to look out the window as the bus jolted alive and began driving down the winding Tadfield hills. Just as he was starting to suspect Aziraphale had fallen asleep, he felt that warm brush of fingers on his, again. 

Crowley looked down to see that Aziraphale had laid his hand over Crowley’s where it laid on the arm rest between them. Crowley was still marveling at the sensation when Aziraphale’s thumb began to stroke lightly over his fingers. 

“Crowley, of course I would love to stay with you,” Aziraphale was smiling a little lopsided at Crowley. “Thank you ever so much for your kindness.” 

_Still drunk, then,_ Crowley decided. _That explains the touching._

“Great, happy to have you. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to promptly black out until we reach my flat.” 

Crowley laid his head against the cold bus window. His skin had just started to warm up the glass when he felt a light tug on his head. A hand was guiding him toward the upright position, and then back down again on the other side of the seat. Crowley’s head was now resting firmly on Aziraphale’s shoulder, Aziraphale’s hand being the culprit who moved him there. 

Crowley sat completely still for a moment, sure this was some sort of hallucination and he had fallen asleep against the window. Not that he was complaining. The Angel was soft and much warmer than his previous resting post. Aziraphale’s hand moved from its spot ruffled in Crowley’s hair and rested now on his left shoulder. He moved to rest his chin on top of Crowley’s head. 

“Angel-” Crowley started, unsure of why he was protesting, but feeling it necessary lest he take advantage of the angel’s obviously drunken state. 

“Shhh,” Aziraphale practically purred. “Sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” 

And for the first time in 11 years, Crowley slept peacefully. 

_________________________________________________________________

Crowley woke to a soft jostling of his forearm. 

He groaned a little and batted at Aziraphale’s hand. “Five more minutes.” 

Crowley turned to bury his nose deeper into Aziraphale’s shoulder when he felt the angel exhale sharply. 

“Crowley, we are here and we have already taken up much of this nice bus driver’s time, so if you would please get up and come with me,” Aziraphale brushed a few hairs back from Crowley’s forehead. “There’s a bed in your flat.” 

Aziraphale said the last part a little sing-songy, clearly losing patience but not wanting to be too harsh on the obviously exhausted demon before him. Crowley did like his bed. 

“Mmph.” 

Crowley slowly lifted his head to stare at Aziraphale, who only smiled gingerly at him and giggled. _Is he still drunk?_ Crowley thought to himself. 

“Oh, darling, your hair,” Aziraphale ran his hand through Crowley’s hair a few times in an attempt to tame what was typically a very neat and tidy coiffe, but now looked as if it had been through three tornados, a small hurricane, and then licked soundly by a very determined cat. 

Crowley froze at the use of the word “darling,” noting sleepily that it was a little more affectionate than the angel’s typical “dear” but not quite as daring as something like “love.” 

Aziraphale pulled Crowley out of his thoughts by tugging on his jacket sleeve, motioning for him to get up so they could finally leave the bus and send the poor driver on his way. Once on the sidewalk, Aziraphale lead the way into the lobby of the building, tugging Crowley along like a mother dragging their child into a very crowded shopping plaza, with every intention of spending the entire day standing around and looking at various, ugly colored jumpers. 

The elevator ride up was a blur and before he knew it, Crowley was standing at the door of his flat, fumbling with the keys. Suddenly, a realization dawned on him. 

“Erm, actually, probably best if you go in first.” 

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, puzzled. He opened his mouth to most likely ask why that is, but he clamped it shut as he caught a whiff of the holy water that was still puddled in Crowley’s office doorway, a few feet from the main entrance. 

“Is that-” 

“Yep.” 

Aziraphale looked relieved in an odd sort of way. He pushed the door open with the palm of his hand and peeked around to find the offending puddle. He tugged on the lapels of his jacket, straightened his back, and snapped in a downward motion. The puddle swirled into nothing and all that was left were the dark stains of Ligur’s remains. 

This time Crowley snapped and the dark spots disappeared. 

“Teamwork, eh?” Crowley said, nudging Aziraphale’s side as he came up beside him. Aziraphale shot Crowley a look that suggested maybe this wasn’t the time for jokes. Crowley promptly ignored the look and strode past the formerly contaminated area and went straight for the liquor cabinet. 

“Crowley, what are you doing?”

He paused and turned to face Aziraphale, holding two bottles of scotch that he had just plucked off of the glittering glass shelves. He lifted his hands. 

“Deciding if I want my splitting hangover in the morning to taste like cinnamon or more smokey,” Crowley grinned at the bottles and then looked up at Aziraphale, who was wringing his hands. 

“Dear, I really think you should get some rest, you look-” Aziraphale paused as if he was choosing his next words wisely. “Well, I dare say you look a bit peaked.” 

Peaked was most likely an understatement. Despite his little nap on the bus, Crowley felt dead on his feet. But in all honesty, he also felt too wound up to properly go to bed. What’s more is that he doubts he could sleep soundly knowing that Aziraphale would be out here, looking uncomfortable at the bland and barren wasteland of Crowley’s living room. No, it was much better for him to stay awake and discuss their plans for survival. 

“I’m fine, Angel.” 

Crowley flinched a little at the blatant lie. He tried his best to be a generally honest demon, but when it came to Aziraphale, he didn’t just try - he was. He can’t remember the last time he lied to him, and why would he? They were friends. _Best_ friends, no matter how many times the angel denied it. He didn’t lie to his best friend. That is, except for one tiny little thing that didn’t matter at all, really. Just that he’s been deeply in love with him for, oh, upwards of 6,000 years. But that’s small, miniscule, and isn’t even a lie if you think about it. Aziraphale has never asked him outright “Are you in love with me?” and therefore Crowley has never lied about it*.

*Though he wasn’t sure what he would do should the angel actually ask that question 

“Let’s get you to bed.” 

Aziraphale put his hand on the small of Crowley’s back and led them toward the bedroom. Crowley’s skin blazed under the touch, despite the layers of clothing between them. 

“Angel, really, I’m fine, you don’t need to do this.” 

Aziraphale huffed as they crossed the threshold. His hand left Crowley’s back and he went for the sleek, grey dresser next to the bed. Reaching into the second drawer from the bottom, he pulled out a pair of black silk pajamas with little white trimmings. 

“How did you-” 

“Put these on and please, please get some rest.” 

Aziraphale pushed the pajamas into Crowley’s hands and began to leave the room. Crowley, panicking slightly, grabbed his wrist. 

“Er, actually, could you, well, I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, obviously you can do whatever you want, but it would be nice if…” Crowley trailed off, all of the courage suddenly leaving his body. He let go of Azirphale’s wrist. 

“Never mind.” 

Aziraphale turned back toward Crowley. He had on one of his faces. He made a lot of those and Crowley had pretty much categorized every single one. This one meant that he was making a decision. 

“Do you want me to stay?”

Crowley suddenly felt very small, again, just like he had when he asked Aziraphale to come to his flat. He hated feeling needy or like a burden, and the last thing he wanted to do was police how Aziraphale handled his own feelings about the day. 

“I- you don’t have to-” Crowley sighed and sat on the bed, flopping over to lay on his back and stare at the ceiling. A quick snap and he was in the pajamas Aziraphale had handed him, his glasses laying on the side table. 

He felt the bed next to him shift as if under some weight. He turned his head to see Aziraphale had gotten into the bed and he was wearing… he was… wearing…

“Where the heaven did you get those?” Crowley was eyeing up Aziraphale’s tartan pajamas. They matched the ones Crowley was wearing in every way minus the color and pattern. He looked utterly comfortable and like he’d be the best cuddler on this side of the pond. But he didn’t need the pajamas to look that particular part. 

“Oh, I had them on hand in case my bookshop ever burnt down and I needed to stay somewhere that I felt comfortable enough to go to sleep and not be in my everyday clothes.” 

“That’s an awfully specific reason to-” 

“I just miracled them up, Crowley,” Aziraphale smiled at him. He was doing a lot of that lately. “It was a joke.” 

Crowley shifted so that he could look at Aziraphale head-on. They were now facing each other, laying on top of the covers. Crowley curled himself almost into a fetal position. There was something gnawing at the back of his mind, but he didn’t want to talk about it. He was never the worried one, that was Aziraphale’s job, but this seemed important. 

“What are we going to do, Angel?” Crowley felt his voice tremble. It really had been quite the day and he was currently on the losing side of the battle to keep his eyes open. 

Aziraphale raised a hand to cup Crowley’s face and he could’ve cried right then and there the touch was so gentle. A thumb began stroking at his cheek and man, Crowley was really about to lose the eyelid battle. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Aziraphale replied after a few moments of comfortable silence. 

“What if we don’t? Aziraphale, I can’t- I don’t want to lose you,” Crowley suddenly felt very naked. On top of being in a very vulnerable position, he didn’t even have his glasses to hide his face. He was sure he looked pathetic and frightened, but at this point he didn’t care. If this was his last chance to confess his feelings, then by Someone, he was taking it. “I can’t lose you, not again.” 

Aziraphale’s thumb froze and he removed his hand from Crowley’s cheek. Crowley’s eyes were closed now but he could only imagine the disgusted look Aziraphale was most likely giving him. He had stepped over their boundaries, he had taken it too far, he was going too fast, God or Satan or Whoever, why was he always going so fast? 

“Come here.” 

Crowley cracked an eye open and saw Aziraphale had put his arms out in an inviting gesture. He couldn’t be reading this situation correctly. There was a brief pause while Crowley considered the other meanings outstretched arms and blatant instructions could have. 

“Oh, you silly serpent, come here and let me hold you, this isn’t some sort of trick.” 

Crowley practically scrambled from his side of the bed, diving headfirst into Aziraphale’s arms. He buried his nose into the angel’s chest and breathed in deep, taking in the smell of aftershave, parchment, and a little bit of the bleached scent that comes with a recent trip to Heaven. 

Aziraphale immediately closed his arms around Crowley, stroking his back and petting through the strands at the back of Crowley’s neck. Crowley, for his part, was doing a very good job of reminding Aziraphale that he was a snake by nature. 

“I love you, did you know that? You must know that,” Aziraphale finally whispered into Crowley’s hair. 

Crowley just shook his head back and forth slightly. Enough that Aziraphale could feel it. 

“Well, I do. Very much. I love you so much, Crowley, and I know you’re worried about what will happen tomorrow but I don’t care, just as long as you’re finally mine.” 

Crowley is pretty sure demons don’t cry. It’s unheard of, if they can. However, demons also can’t love. And Crowley loves deeply, and with his entire soul, this being holding him right now. 

“I love you, too, Angel,” Crowley managed to choke out. He pulled back to look Aziraphale in the eyes and saw that they were a little watery. 

“Can I-” 

“Yes,” Crowley breathed. He didn’t care what the question was, he trusted Aziraphale and wanted whatever he was given. 

Aziraphale placed a chaste kiss on Crowley’s lips, and then the corner of his mouth, and then his cheeks, finally landing a kiss on his forehead. 

“Go to sleep, love,” Aziraphale’s breath ghosted over Crowley’s brow. 

And for the second time that night, Crowley fell asleep feeling more at peace than he ever had in his long, long life. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> art by the wonderful @lonicera.caprifolium !!!

After the trials, Crowley and Aziraphale met up at St. James Park. A location that was home to many of their clandestine* meetings throughout the centuries. Including one that was, well, not very pleasant. But that was all behind them now. They were free. Free from Hell and Heaven and whoever else would try to control them, at least for the time being. Their little switcheroo did seem to actually trick their former bosses, but one could never be too careful. 

*or, as they discovered, not-so-clandestine

“Care for a spot of lunch?” Crowley asked, his posture relaxed as he felt the weight of 20,000 demons and angels and one (1) failed apocalypse lift off of his back. 

Aziraphale wiggled in his seat, an act that only grew more endearing over time. 

“Temptation accomplished!” 

Crowley couldn’t help the small smirk that crossed his face at the little joke. They got up and headed to none other than the Ritz. The ghost of Aziraphale’s promise that one day they could dine there breezed through Crowley’s mind. That night in 1967, those words, had held so many promises. Promises that they’ll be together, that Aziraphale wants this thing, too. And hadn’t he already proven that he did? He defied Heaven and Hell to be on the same side as Crowley. He had held him in his arms and called him “love” the night before they were either going to face the music or come out on top. 

And yet. 

And yet Crowley still couldn’t believe it. When you pine and yearn yourself silly for 6,000 years, it’s sort of hard to conceptualize actually getting what it is that you were yearning for. He had spent the last 24 hours* thinking long and hard about their confessions the night before, and he still refused to believe that maybe Aziraphale loved him. 

*More like 18 hours, 22 minutes, and 15 seconds, but who’s counting? 

Well, okay, it wasn’t hard to believe that he loved him. That much was believable. As much as Aziraphale denied it, they were friends, the best of, and Aziraphale was an angel. Angels loved everything, so they most assuredly loved their best friends.* So, of course Aziraphale loved Crowley. But was he _in love_ with him?  
  
*That is, if any other angel had ever had a best friend

Did he dream of falling asleep every night holding him in his arms? Could he wax rhapsodic about the softness of his lips? Did he yearn for that pink petal softness to be laid gently on every available surface of his skin? To dot his shoulders and press into his chest? Did he picture the sweet brush of fingers pushing back a loose strand of hair until he cupped his face in his hand and whispered sweet nothings into his cheek?

Did he? 

Because Crowley certainly did. 

Once at the Ritz, they cheers’d to the world, and each other, and the conversation flowed much the same as it always had. They reminisced about the good times and the bad times and went on merrily just like that for hours. So long, in fact, that by the time they looked around to see where the waiter had gone off to, they realized they were the only ones left in the entire restaurant. 

A nervous giggle passed between them. 

“Well,” Aziraphale started to get up, dabbing the napkin on his mouth and turning to Crowley. “I suppose we best be off, then.” 

Crowley stood up and put his hands in his pockets. Right. 

“I guess you’ll be wanting to check up on your bookshop, yeah?” Crowley asked, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t want to leave Azirphale’s side, but he had to give him his space, and he probably wanted to get a thorough look at his shop. 

“Yes, I think that would be delightful - I only hope Adam didn’t add too many new editions,” Aziraphale started off toward the exit, miracling up a tip that would buy their waiter that new car he had been eyeing up. “Oh think of it, Crowley. We’re finally able to do whatever we want!” 

Crowley was trailing slightly behind him. 

“Right, _whatever_ we want,” he mumbled, fishing in his pockets for the Bentley’s keys. 

The drive was quiet, but not in a bad way. Crowley could practically feel the excitement thrumming through Aziraphale as they got closer and closer to SoHo. He had been ready to burst at the seams when Crowley told him the shop was okay, and Aziraphale had been patient enough by coming out to lunch with Crowley instead of popping over to check up on his precious books at the first mention that they were okay. 

“Here we are, home sweet home,” Crowley said as they pulled up to the bookshop.

Aziraphale burst out of the car and almost tripped in his haste to get up the stairs and through the door. Crowley leaned on the roof of the Bentley and smiled after him. He knew what the bookshop meant to Aziraphale. Crowley didn’t care one bit for books and even _he_ had been devastated at its ruined state. 

He had been devastated for a few other reasons, too, but one was definitely that the shop was in flames. 

Aziraphale popped his head out of the door and stared at Crowley. 

“Aren’t you coming in?” He asked, a puzzled look on his face. 

“Nah,” Crowley waved his hand with an air of casualness that would leave the most broody of teenagers impressed. “I’m gonna go back to my flat and check on the plants. They need a good seeing to or they’ll start to slack.” 

Crowley grinned halfheartedly up at the angel, who for all the world looked a little disappointed. 

“Oh.” 

_What are you doing, you idiot?_ Crowley thought to himself. _He clearly wants you to stay, and you clearly want to stay, so stay!_ _  
_ _  
_ “I’ll call you up this week, hm?” Crowley said patting the top of the Bentley. “We could go to dinner, or do a walk in the park, or see a show?” 

Aziraphale perked up a little at that. 

“A show, you say? Well, I did hear _Wicked_ is in town!” 

Crowley smiled. Aziraphale did have a weak spot for Stephen Schwartz. He’d seen Godspell the year it opened and went to go see it five more times. One of those times he dragged Crowley, who, despite his protests, actually had a fairly decent time. However, that might have been due to the company. 

“ _Wicked_ sounds fantastic. I’ll call you this week and we can pick a night.” 

Aziraphale stared at Crowley with a soft smile on his face, looking as if he had something more to say. But the moment passed and Crowley swung himself into the Bentley. He gripped two hands on the steering wheel and sighed. He was an idiot. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale called, still on his front step. “Please let me know if anything is out of the ordinary.” 

“Likewise, Angel.” 

Crowley sped off toward Mayfair. The sound of him hitting himself in the head and repeating the words “You’re an absolute fool, Anthony J. Crowley, a complete and utter numbskull” following him all the way home. 

________________________________________________

Once Crowley was in his own home surrounded by the safe forest-like space of his plant room, he let out a very long, very frustrated scream. 

Why was this so hard? He had already told Aziraphale how he feels, while being held by the very being himself who was covering Crowley in kisses, no less. Had he not done the hard part? Wasn’t after the confession supposed to be the easy bit? Now they were free, Aziraphale had said so himself. The one thing holding Aziraphale back, to Crowley’s knowledge, was the fear that one day Heaven or Hell would find out about their relationship and use it to hurt them. Now, Heaven and Hell know, so what’s the hold up? 

_Well, for starters, you can’t undo 6,000 years of fear in one day,_ Crowley went to grab his mister with a little too much force and knocked it off the table it sat on. _Give him time. Give him space. Give him… something. You can’t keep going this fast, of course he needs time._

But hadn't Crowley given him bloody time? 

Crowley picked up his mister and began inspecting the plants. It’s not like they had to stop seeing each other. Crowley was going to call Aziraphale on Thursday and tell him that he had found tickets for a showing of _Wicked_ and maybe, if he was lucky, they’d accidentally* brush arms in the dark. 

*purposely 

_God, I sound like a Victorian maiden,_ Crowley thought as he spotted a brown patch on his Fiddle-Leaf Fig that he named Tevye. Not that he frequently names his plants, but this one he had grown particularly fond of. 

Crowley loved Aziraphale enough to accept whatever the angel decided to give him. If that meant a few more centuries of friendship, that was fine with him. At least now Aziraphale was actually acknowledging that they were actually friends. 

“Now, now, what do we have here? Is that a brown spot?” Crowley spat out at Tevye. 

The plants surrounding him began trembling at the sound of Crowley’s anger. 

Crowley smiled. 

Who needs to talk about their feelings when he could do this and get just as much relief? 

_________________________________________________________

Thursday came around and Crowley called Aziraphale at exactly 2:33 p.m. He had decided that he should call a little later in the afternoon so he doesn’t look desperate, and then additionally decided that calling at 2:30 on the dot made it look a little too planned. 

The phone rang only once. 

“Good afternoon, we’re actually closed for the day, but please call back at a different time and I would be happy to help you-” 

“Is that how you always answer the phone?” 

There was a brief pause. 

“Crowley! Dear, how have you been? Oh, I’ve been waiting- er, wondering when you would call,” Aziraphale’s voice was notably warmer than his greeting and the sound of shuffling could only mean he had sat down on his favorite chair in the back room. 

Some of the tension that Crowley didn’t even realize had built up melted away at the sound of his voice. 

“You know, Angel, if we just got you set up with Caller I.D., you would already know it’s me before telling me to kindly fuck off because you’re closed,” Crowley plopped down on his own hard leather couch and put his feet up on the coffee table. 

“Oh, hush,” Crowley could practically see Aziraphale waving a hand at him. “I’m perfectly fine with the set up I have, now. Next you’ll suggest I get one of those cellular devices, like an e-Phone.” 

Crowley groaned audibly. 

“It’s an iPhone, Aziraphale, and it would make my life so much easier if you just got one,” Crowley couldn’t help the small smile playing at his lips at the thought of Aziraphale trying to figure out how to work an iPhone.

“They don’t have buttons, Crowley! How do they work without buttons?” 

Crowley quickly devolved into a fit of hysterical laughter. 

“Did you call just to make fun of me?” 

Despite his words, Aziraphale’s tone said that he was smiling, too. Crowley wiped a few stray tears away and set himself back to sorts. Right. 

“Angel, Aziraphale, my dearest friend, would you like to accompany me to a showing of _Wicked_ at the West End tomorrow evening at 6?” 

There was a beat of silence. 

“Hmmm I don’t know if I want to go see a show as amazingly entertaining as _Wicked_ with someone who likes to make fun of me,” Aziraphale’s voice still had the smile in it. 

“Oh, please don’t make me beg.” 

Another beat. 

“Alright, I suppose that would be most agreeable,” Aziraphale replied breezily. “Oh, we could stop by that little restaurant that I told you about, with the umbrellas! I would finally have a reason to wear the new fancy bowtie I just bought. Did I tell you about that, dear? I walked past this shop and heard the man saying that no one would buy them because of the pattern, and I said ‘Tartan is a lovely pattern, these people simply don’t have style.’ They came in all sorts of shades and-”

Crowley let Aziraphale go on about his week so far. It was good to hear his voice again. Evidently, four days was now his limit on not seeing the angel. Funny, they used to go centuries without seeing one another. 

The next morning came fairly quickly and Crowley spent the entirety of it trying to pick out an outfit. Being that he didn’t conform to the human idea of gender, the options he had were essentially endless. He could wear a slinky black dress with red trimmings, he could wear that off-the shoulder top with the lace details, he could wear the suit that he wore the last time he and Aziraphale went to see a West End show that made Aziraphale do a double-take. 

In the end, he wore a dark green dress shirt and black dress pants. Not too casual and not too overdone. Aziraphale would most likely be wearing his usual attire, which didn’t mean he’d look any less adorable than he always did, but it did make Crowley feel a little silly for taking six hours to get ready. 

Well, too late to feel weird about that now. 

Crowley drove over to the bookshop with the windows down and Queen blasting. It wasn’t that he hated Queen, he certainly liked them well enough, but sometimes he wished he could listen to other music. He bought other cassettes and CDs for a reason. 

He pulled up to the bookshop and swiftly made his way to the door. As soon as he put his fist up to knock, the door flew open. 

“Dear boy, it’s so good to see you!” Aziraphale was standing in his doorway, wearing a tan suit. From this century. 

Crowley’s jaw dropped ever so slightly  
  
“Oh, did you see my new suit? I just had it tailored and I figured, you know, why not give it a go? It’s not too much, is it?” Aziraphale looked down and began fiddling with his sleeves. Crowley grabbed his hands. 

“No, no, it’s, uh, s’ good. You look nice,” Crowley smiled reassuringly up at him.

They stood in the doorway, Crowley holding Aziraphale’s hands, smiling at each other for a few seconds. 

Crowley looked down, seeming to only just become aware of the hand holding and promptly dropped his hands away. 

“Right, so! Best be off, then. You have everything? Good!” He turned quickly to hide his blush and began striding toward the Bentley. 

He heard Aziraphale fall into step behind him. Well, that was a bit weird.

As they drove toward the restaurant, Aziraphale prattled on more about how he had almost sold a book to this woman, but then saw how she kept her copy of “Mrs. Dalloway” in her purse and couldn’t possibly sell one of his precious editions to someone who put so many creases and tears into their own $2.00 copy. 

Crowley listened attentively. Shop talk wasn’t really his thing, but he loved hearing Aziraphale be so animated. He used his hands for dramatic effect and always put on voices for different customers. It was adorable. 

The restaurant was predictably good* and the conversation flowed easily. No sign of Crowley’s earlier fumble mucking anything up. 

*Aziraphale did always know how to pick them 

They made their way lazily to the West End, continuing their dinner conversation all the way until they were in their seats. 

“Oh, Crowley, this is such a wonderful view,” Aziraphale beamed. “You know this is my favorite seat in the house because-”

“Yes, yes, because one time Arthur Laurents told you this was the best spot to hear the actors speaking, singing, and see their movements, I know,” Crowley smirked to himself. Sometimes Aziraphale was just too predictable. 

“Ah, yes, well. Quite,” Aziraphale wiggled in his seat as the house lights came down and the show began. 

_Wicked_ was good. Something about the two main characters being from different worlds, starting out as enemies and then turning into unlikely friends really resonated with Crowley. Truth be told, anything was better than _The Sound of Music_. That was something he and Aziraphale wholeheartedly agreed on. 

Aziraphale was enthralled the entire time, eyes never leaving the stage. In a different life, Crowley suspected Aziraphale would be the sort of human who tried their hand at acting on the stage. Whether or not he’d be good at it… well, there’s a reason it would be in a different life. 

Intermission came and Aziraphale insisted he go get them drinks. The tickets were Crowley’s doing and Aziraphale felt like he wanted to thank him. 

They sat and drank terrible theater wine for a moment before Aziraphale snapped and it tasted suspiciously like a Bordeaux Red that they both had enjoyed one night at the bookshop. Aziraphale wasn’t a snob by any means, but he had standards. 

The lights began to flicker and it was back to the show. Except this time, when the lights went down, Aziraphale placed his hand lightly over Crowley’s on the armrest between them, just like he had on the bus the night after the failed Apocalypse. 

Crowley froze, spine ramrod straight. 

He snuck a glance over at Aziraphale, who looked like nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Crowley wasn’t sure if this was a trick or an accident or if maybe they had had too much wine, but he didn’t want the hand to move, so he stayed as still as possible through the next few songs. 

Then the familiar notes of “As Long as You're Mine” started up. 

_Hold me too tight_

_I need help believing_

_You're with me tonight_

Crowley stopped breathing, remembering that night. Being held by Aziraphale and loved, even if it was all in his head. He believed it for those few hours. 

_My wildest dreamings_

_Could not foresee_

_Lying beside you_

_With you wanting me_

Well, this was embarrassing. Hopefully Aziraphale wasn’t noticing the similarities and this was all just Crowley overthinking. His heart rate picked up speed. 

_And just for this moment_

_As long as you're mine_

_I've lost all resistance_

_And crossed some border line_

Crowley felt a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wiped at it with the hand that wasn’t being touched by the unsuspecting angel beside him. 

_Maybe I'm brainless_

_Maybe I'm wise_

_But you've got me seeing_

_Through different eyes_

_Somehow I've fallen_

_Under your spell_

Crowley felt a squeeze. He looked down at their hands and Aziraphale was holding Crowley’s hand just a little bit tighter. 

_And somehow I'm feeling_

_It's up that I fell_

“Angel?” Crowley whispered. He wanted to make sure nothing was wrong. No agents of Heaven or Hell had suddenly appeared on stage. Maybe Aziraphale was trying to get his attention without making a scene. 

_Borrow the moonlight_

_Until it is through_

_And know I'll be here_

_Holding you_

_As long as you're mine_

Aziraphale turned to Crowley and smiled lightly. Was he crying? Something must be wrong. His eyes were dewey. Crowley went to say something, again, to ask what was wrong and if he was okay, but Aziraphale brushed his thumb along Crowley’s hand and the words died in his throat. 

And then. 

And then Aziraphale leaned forward and kissed him. 

He kissed him. Right there. In front of all of these people. It was quick, just a peck. He sat back with a smirk on his face and removed his hand from Crowley’s to clap with everyone else as the song ended. 

Crowley can keep his cool. He is the king of keeping his cool. He kept his cool all through eleven years of worry and anxiety that the Anti-Christ wasn’t going to turn out how he and Aziraphale hoped. He kept his cool through the entire day of the Apocalypse, through his driving his care through a ring of literal Hellfire, through facing Satan himself, through lying to Heaven in Aziraphale’s skin. He kept his cool through all of it. Mostly. 

After that kiss, that one second, quick, casual, we-do-this-all-the-time kiss, however, he did not keep his cool. 

He felt a blush rush through his entire face, all the way down to his toes. Can toes blush? Crowley wasn’t sure, but he’s now positive the answer is yes. 

He sat there, his entire body aflame with blush, for the remainder of the musical and as soon as the final notes rang out, he stood up and walked swiftly down the aisle. He heard Aziraphale call for him faintly, but couldn’t be sure if that was the blood rushing in his ears making things up or not. 

He burst out the doors of the theater and ducked off to the side, out of the way of the crowd that would soon be rushing out after bows. 

_Breathe, Crowley, breathe,_ Crowley’s heart was racing at breakneck speed. Which was kind of funny, if you thought about it, because he didn’t really need it. _Calm down. It’s just Aziraphale. Kissing you. Casually. On the mouth. You’ve done that before, haven’t you? You just did it the other day! You wanted this, you want this, you’ve always wanted this… But does he love you like you love him? Has he always? Why didn’t he say anything, why didn’t-_

Crowley’s thoughts were interrupted as a familiar tan-clad figure made its way to him. 

“Dear, there you are!” Aziraphale looked at him with concern. “I’m so sorry, Crowley.” 

Crowley’s head spun a little more. 

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?” Crowley stood up, trying his best to look like he hadn’t just been on the brink of a panic attack. 

“Well, for, well,” Aziraphale stuttered. Normally that was Crowley’s bit. “Well, I’m not quite sure, but you bolted out of there so fast that I didn’t know what to think.” 

“I’m the sorry one, I shouldn’t have just ran away like that,” Crowley looked at the crowd around them. “Let’s go somewhere a little more private, yeah?” 

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s hand* and tugged him toward the Thames. 

*How many times before that little spark stopped igniting every time they touched? 

Crowley chugged forward until he was right at the water’s edge, Aziraphale in tow. He let go of Aziraphale’s hand and walked forward, nudging his glasses up onto his forehead and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

He took a deep breath. 

“Do you love me, Aziraphale?” He asked, not looking at Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale stepped closer to him. 

“Do I- Do I _love_ you?” He sounded incredulous. “Of course, I love- Crowley, look at me.” He walked over and grabbed both of Crowley’s hands, ducking so that he could meet his eyes. “I love you more than anything or anyone else in the world, Crowley.” 

Aziraphale sounded genuine. Crowley’s brain couldn’t comprehend that. 

“But are you _in_ love with me? Or do you just love me in an overall sort of way?” Crowley hated how he sounded like a schoolgirl asking her crush if he liked her or if he _like_ liked her. He looked at Aziraphale. 

“I suppose both,” Aziraphale looked confused at Crowley’s question. “Let me say it, again, but differently. I am madly, deeply in love with you. I love you romantically, platonically, and every form of love in between. I love you because you are my best and most treasured friend in the entire world, but I also love you in a way that makes me want to snog you silly until these intrusive thoughts telling you otherwise are out of your head. I want to hold you like I did that night and keep you safe and warm and make you feel protected. I love you with every fiber of my being, dear. I want to spend the rest of my time on Earth with you, and even beyond that. When all of the Earth is gone and humans have evolved and left nothing but stardust in their wake, I still want to be right next to you, loving you just as deeply as I always have.” 

“Do you really mean that?” Crowley flinched as the words left his own lips. _Of course he means it, you git!_

Aziraphale just smiled and cupped his hand on Crowley’s right cheek. 

“My darling boy, what could I possibly do to make you understand? I thought…” Aziraphale trailed off in thought for a second. “I thought you knew that I loved you. I know it was a hectic day, but I’m fairly certain that I told you this that night at your flat.” 

Crowley knows this, logically. He, of course, remembers this and has spent the last few days fretting over it. 

“I know, but, I thought… I thought that…. That _maybe_ you didn’t mean it like I had meant it,” Crowley mumbled. 

Aziraphale made a tutting sound. 

“May I kiss you?” Aziraphale brought his other hand to rest on Crowley’s left cheek. 

Crowley just nodded, certain that if he spoke, again, he would only continue to mess this whole thing up. 

“Don’t run away this time.” Aziraphale kissed him like he did that night. This wasn’t the quick peck from earlier, meant as a small, but intimate, sign of affection, it was longer than that. Soft and lovely. A warmth bloomed through Crowley that was calmer and deeper than the blush from earlier. 

When they pulled away, Aziraphale looked absolutely besotted. With Crowley. He was besotted with _Crowley_ and oh, is that weird to think about. His love being returned just as strongly. 

“Let’s go home,” Aziraphale said, tugging on Crowley’s lapels to straighten them out. 

“Which home?” Crowley slipped his hand into Aziraphale’s, confident now that he was not reading into things and that this was not only okay, but encouraged. 

“Love, I think wherever you are is home,” Aziraphale replied, staring down at their joined hands. 

“That’s very sweet, Angel, but I need to know where to drive us.” 

“How about a little place in the South Downs?” Aziraphale dangled what looked like house keys in Crowley’s face. 

“What… what are those?” Crowley looked at the keys like they were plopped in front of him by a UFO. 

“You’re not the only one who can be sneaky,” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek and began to pull him to the car. A mirror image of their earlier arrival to the Thames. 

Crowley laughed. He laughed and he pulled Aziraphale into an embrace and kissed him all over because he had never felt so happy and lighthearted. The angel was right - wherever they went, so long as they were together, was home. 

It always sort of has been, hasn’t it? 


	3. Epligoue

It was on a lovely Sunday afternoon, the sun shining and the breeze light, that Crowley remembered that all of this almost didn’t happen. 

He almost didn’t get a happy ending living in a cottage with the love of his life. Almost. But he did. 

As he contemplated this over his morning eggs, Aziraphale came up behind him and wrapped his arms soundly around Crowley’s middle. The angel had taken to sleeping more often now that they were out of the city and he is always adorably brain dead before he has breakfast. Said sleepy angel now rested his forehead against the back of Crowley’s neck and hummed at him. 

“Good morning, love,” Crowley cooed at him. 

“Mmph.” 

“I think that’s usually my line.” 

Crowley set down the spatula and turned to scoop Aziraphale into his arms, grabbing him in a sloppy, loose-limbed hug. He waddled with Aziraphale in his arms until he was able to dump him in a seat with a fresh cup of tea steaming in front of his still half-asleep face. 

Crowley planted a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead and went back to the eggs. 

He finished up the rest of breakfast, making sausage and toasting up some bread from the bakery that Aziraphale discovered down the street. He got out jam from their lovely new neighbor Anne, and hummed as he continued to set the table. 

He finally sat down, his own cup of tea in hand, and looked up to see Aziraphale looking at him funny. 

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Crowley wiped lightly at his cheek and chin as a precaution. 

Aziraphale smiled lopsided at him. 

“No, I just love you.” Aziraphale’s voice was still a little scratchy from sleep and he looked vulnerable in his large, rumbled sleep shirt. 

Crowley snorted into his tea. 

“Ah, well, yes,” He wiped at the stray tea drops with his napkin. “I love you, too.” 

“That song you were humming... it’s from  _ Wicked _ , right?” Aziraphale picked up his knife and began spreading out the strawberry jam onto his toast. 

“Hmm? Is it? I didn’t notice,” Crowley replied, feeling a small blush at the memory of that night a few months ago when he came  _ this  _ close to mucking things up. 

“It’s the song I kissed you to that night you thought I didn’t love you.” Aziraphale leaned down and took a bite of his toast. Crowley could tell from his cheeks that he was smiling. 

Crowley spit out the rest of his tea. Aziraphale tutted at him and snapped, miracling the splash zone dry. 

“Now, really, darling, must we with the theatrics this early?” Aziraphale still had that twinkle in his eye that told Crowley he thought this was all highly amusing. 

Crowley groaned. 

“Why would you bring that up? We were having such a lovely morning.” Crowley picked up his fork and mumbled around his bite. “Please don’t remind me of the most embarrassing moment in my 6,000 years of life.” 

  
“What about that time your horse kicked you square in the head in front of King Arthur?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrow and Crowley could already tell that he had a list of embarrassing Crowley moments building up in his head. 

“How about  _ one _ of the most embarrassing moments, then, hm?” Crowley could not believe he had chosen to spend the rest of his life with someone who could most likely name every single moment he has ever publicly floundered at the drop of a hat. 

They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. 

“What about that time with Queen Elizabeth-” 

Aziraphale was promptly cut off by Crowley throwing his toast across the table, the jam side smacking Aziraphale square in the nose. 

“Did you… just throw your toast at me?” Aziraphale asked as the slice slid down his face. 

“No? I wonder where that came from, should get that checked out,” Crowley said as he smiled at Aziraphale. “Also, you’ve got a little something, right there.” Crowley reached over and swiped some jam from Aziraphale’s nose and licked his finger. 

“Good jam, should tell Anne thank you and to send more when she gets the chance.” Crowley stood up collecting his plate and silverware. “You all done?” 

Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s plate when he was hit with a pie. 

“Where did you- that’s not- oh-ho-ho, that’s not  _ fair _ !” Crowley wiped at the whipped cream now covering his face. 

Aziraphale leaned forward and licked some cream off of his cheek. 

“You never said we had to play  _ fair _ , dear,” Aziraphale giggled. And for Heaven’s sake, Crowley just loved him so much. So he said so. 

“I love you, Angel. So much.” 

Aziraphale stopped giggling and reached up to push some of Crowley’s hair off of his forehead. 

“I know. I love you, too. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up!” Aziraphale snapped the dishes out of Crowley’s hold, grabbed his hand, and began towing him toward their bathroom. 

Crowley smiled at the back of Aziraphale’s head. He really was the dumbest, most embarrassing, luckiest demon in the entire planet. 

Thank Someone for that. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey-o! if you liked this, please check out my other GOmens works!!! comments and kudos are always appreciated and welcomed, thank u <3


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